


The Right Hand of Voltron

by TheNarwhal380



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Rating: Mature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarwhal380/pseuds/TheNarwhal380
Summary: This takes place around season 3, episode 2, with Shiro missing and Keith chosen by the Black Lion.  Lance has an idea about how they can adjust to their new roles within Voltron.It's essentially one long smut-joke, for which I deeply, deeply apologize, although I'd like to think it's an actual story too, with some heart.  I didn't want to write it, but after the phrase "the right hand of Voltron" got into my head, I couldn't help myself.  I'm so sorry.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	The Right Hand of Voltron

As Keith is walking back to his room, he's mulling over Lance's just-uttered words. _The Black Lion wouldn't choose anybody it didn't feel was worthy to lead Voltron. I respect its choice. And you should too._

For all that Lance can be a clown, Keith thinks, he does have a good heart. And while Keith tells himself, as always, that he doesn't need anyone else, doesn't need their validation or approval, he knows that this one time he'll be storing those words away, to pull out again if needed.

##

"I've had an idea of true genius!" Lance announces as they're all gathered around a plate of chocolate lava cookies, another culinary experiment of Hunk's that they're eagerly waiting to cool. Not surprisingly, Lance cracks first, grabs one and takes a bite, and then drops the molten-hot cookie and urgently sucks in air through pursed lips.

"Was that it?" asks Pidge. "Burning your mouth through an inability to wait thirty seconds?"

"No, even better than that. We're all wondering about how things will work when our Lions are joined up as Voltron now. We're used to how Shiro directed Voltron, like it was almost automatic, linked to his own body. The way Voltron would land left leg first, just like Shiro would do in battle himself. The way Voltron's right arm was like his own right arm." Lance is practically alight with fervor, demonstrating with his body as he's talking. "If we can learn how Keith moves, how he reacts, we can be just as good as ever."

"Err, I'm not sure the link is that direct --" begins Keith, but he's interrupted by the others.

"Actually, that is clever. Unexpectedly," says Pidge.

"Excellent idea for confidence-building," says Allura, her words punctuated by a "Definitely, definitely" from Hunk.

"I don't --" Keith tries again.

"I just don't want it to be like when we were first forming Voltron and it didn't work," says Lance. There are nods all around. Slightly more quietly he says, "I want to make sure I know how to be your right hand." Keith can see that lack of confidence of Lance's that occasionally surfaces, a lack of confidence that there's no reason for at all, as far as Keith is concerned. He doesn't know if the others see it, and he doesn't want them to. He wants Lance confident in his role. So he does what he thinks a leader would do here.

"OK," Keith says. "That was some good thinking, Lance."

And for a brief span of time, he actually believes that too.

##

They're all keen to get to training practice. The loss of Shiro makes them want to fight until they're too tired for sorrow -- well, that's how it is for Keith anyway -- and their uncertainty about their new Voltron configuration makes them want to be at the top of their game.

So there are more battlebots than usual, more jumps and dives, more near misses. The floor is a mass of moving bodies, flesh and metal, and Keith pushes himself harder and harder, slashing with his sword, from the left across his body to his right and then back, slicing bots in half.

Until Keith notices the mass of bodies isn't as dense; there's more space. Have they beaten most of the bots? When he looks out from his own cluster of attackers, he sees that the other Paladins have stopped, and are watching him. Have they just changed the program so there are no bots coming for them? Pidge is standing suspiciously close to the console.

His pondering is interrupted by another concerted bot attack. "Are you all going to help me?" he yells to the others.

"No," says Hunk.

"That's not the plan," says Pidge.

"What plan?" yells Keith, as he parries a slicing blow from the closest bot.

"See how his right arm always slices left first," says Lance, as if he's narrating a documentary. "He automatically puts his weight on his left foot for that."

"I see, I see," says Hunk. "I will _be_ Keith's left leg."

"What are you -- ugh --" Keith barely dodges another blow. This is ridiculous. He puts on a burst of effort, disabling another couple of bots, and then dashes over to the others, which prompts Pidge to switch off the program.

"Very instructive," Allura says to Lance. The other murmur their agreement.

Keith glowers. He reminds himself that he agreed to this. It's part of leading Voltron.

##

Lunch is the usual goo. Keith is more tired than usual after his unexpected demonstration battle, so he doesn't join in any of the banter around the table. Then he becomes aware that there is, in fact, no banter.

He looks up.

Everyone is looking at him.

"I never noticed before," Lance has started saying, "that Keith actually uses his left hand for the spoon. Apparently," and here the documentary voice kicks in, "his left hand is also capable of moves requiring finesse. Have you noted this down, Pidge?"

Pidge is nodding. "I'll be as natural a left arm of Voltron as I was before."

Keith doesn't say anything, but he can feel his glower deepen.

##

The afternoon's battle training session was better. Back to normal -- no one watching him with a disturbing intensity this time -- and he'd taken down more than the usual number of bots. For the last half hour it had been just him and the automation, and he'd found his rhythm. Now it's over and time to chill.

Keith's already throwing his shirt in the corner of his room as the door closes, followed shortly by shoes, socks, all his paraphernalia. He flops on the bed in just his boxers, face first, and lets the fatigue take hold. His mind wanders, as it always does now, to his responsibilities as the leader of Voltron, as the Black Paladin. The question of how he can live up to Shiro's skill in getting the team to work together.

He needs to relax, he knows. Battle training tires him out, but the stress is still there.

He does have one method for de-stressing, the method that guys have when they're alone in their rooms. But that comes with its own ... causes of anxiety. At least, that's how it's been recently, sneaking up on him. Once it was mindless, an entirely physical release. But now ...

Still, even just thinking of it gets his body going. His hips press against the bed, even without him intending it, twice, three times. He's hard enough now and the blood's all gone south.

What's the harm?

He does need to de-stress. It's important for him to function effectively as leader.

It won't be hurting anyone.

His hand's there inside his boxers before he's finished his rationalizations, gripping himself. He doesn't stroke at first, just squeezes gently, then runs his hand up and down the whole length, and his body shudders.

Of course it's fine to do this. More than fine.

And if he starts thinking of blue eyes and brown skin, of a tall and lanky body, and specifically of that tall and lanky body shirtless and ready for swimming, of a grin that makes his heart clench a little ... well, no one has to know.

Keith flips over onto his back and with his left hand pushes his boxers down to his knees, leaving him room to get up a rhythm in his stroking. He trails his left hand up past his hip to his belly and traces it around in a small circle; that always brings on the climax so much more intensely for him. His knees are still bound together by the boxers and he wants to spread his legs while he's stroking, imagining that ... no, that's going too far ... still he uses one foot to drag down the boxers and flick them away. It's a good long flick: they land on the other side of the room's sofa.

He hears a thump.

What was that? Maybe just Pidge yet again dropping some of her tools or whatever she's tinkering with.

He keeps going. He's getting close ... he closes his eyes ...

And when he opens them again he sees blue eyes looking right into his.

"What?! Jesus! Fuck!" Keith tries to cover himself with his hands, but it's not really hiding anything. He tries again to form words. "Lance. What the hell are you doing in my room?" His voice shakes a bit. It always does when he's close to coming.

"I knew you'd be a right-hander with this," says Lance, seeming not at all discouraged by Keith's tone or by any sense of guilt.

"That's not -- Lance, I asked, what are you doing in my room?"

"Well, you were still going in the battle simulation, and you only engaged a single lock on your door. And I'm still learning about being your right hand."

"Lance, this has gone way beyond --"

"I feel like I've almost got it. Not quite, though. There's one more thing I could do to really feel like your right hand."

"Lance, no." Lance, yes, says Keith's body. He wills himself to ignore it.

Lance reaches out without touching, looks Keith in the eyes, and flashes that smile of his. "For Voltron," he says.

That's without doubt the most ridiculous justification Keith has ever heard, and normally his eyes would roll practically out of his head on hearing something like that. But his body right now isn't interested in sarcasm or cleverness or anything intellectual: his usual self-discipline has dissolved, bled away. His body is only interested in Lance's hand, inches away.

"Yes, then," says Keith. He covers his eyes with his arm.

Then he thinks -- in a way he usually wouldn't, with that usual self-discipline stopping any such thoughts before they'd start -- that this could be the only time with Lance like this, so he takes his arm from his eyes. This could be the only time.

"Could you --" He wouldn't ask this in his normal state of mind. "It feels ... weird with you wearing all your clothes while I'm ... like this. Could you take off your shirt?"

Lance pauses, hand so close to its goal; shrugs; peels off his shirt. He shuffles in closer, knee-walking on the bed, and then his legs are under Keith's. He pauses again, and looks at Keith. Keith nods.

The first contact of Lance's hand on him is a sensation that's at once familiar and a thousand times stronger than anything he's used to. Ten thousand times. His whole body flinches. He looks from Lance's face, flushed, down his chest, also flushed, memorizing as much as he can. He sees that Lance's shorts have tented out -- it means something to him too, maybe. Physically, that is, of course. Keith can't expect anything more.

And then the thoughts stop as Lance's right hand strokes, up and down and up and that's it, that's all, Keith is coming embarrassingly quickly. He feels the spatter on his neck, his shoulder, his belly.

His eyes are closed again when he feels Lance move, Lance's legs no longer under his own, the weight of a second body on the bed removed. When he opens his eyes again Lance is at the door, shirt on once more.

"Another successful bonding moment," Lance says, with a smile that's almost his usual cocky one but this time belied by a swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Uh, yeah," says Keith, unsure.

"Hasta la later."

##

Keith isn't sure how the next morning will go. He's in leader mode again, and hoping he hasn't screwed everything up after the ... incident ... with Lance.

But in the kitchen everyone seems normal. Positive, even. Even Lance. Keith relaxes a little.

"OK everyone," Keith says. "I thought we'd try something different today. Actually go out in the Lions, form Voltron, try out some new moves. First though: breakfast."

He gets a round of enthusiastic agreement for the plan. He can do this. Hunk gives him a thumbs up; Pidge grins encouragingly. Lance is facing away, reaching up to get some bowls out of a cupboard. Keith's aware of the strip of skin that's showing between Lance's shirt and his pants; thinks to himself, that's not something to notice now, now or in the future. That was all there'll be.

But Keith also notices, framing that strip of skin, the top of a pair of boxers that he's fairly sure are his own. He hadn't found the ones he'd flicked over the sofa yesterday, but figured they'd got themselves wedged down the back or something.

Maybe they hadn't.

Lance turns around and sees Keith looking at him. He looks down at himself, and then locks eyes with Keith and smiles a tentative smile.

Maybe that wasn't all there'll be after all.


End file.
